I hadn’t meant to take a vacation from blogging last week, but events came in waves and it was all I could do to keep my head above the surface.

The Wife’s Big Birthday Bash week crescendoed and crashed through the President’s Day weekend, featuring dozens of munchkins, their parents, a couple pecks of oysters, several bottles of wine, leg of lamb roasted on a spit, a whole grilled salmon, and major reconstructive surgery on the house.

Thursday I woke up solemn and prepared to serve jury duty by blasting Screaming for Vengeance, showering in ice cold water and slapping my grim, squinty, clenched face in the mirror.

“Don’t you have jury duty today?” Rebbie hollered from downstairs.

“I do,” I yelled back, then growled to myself, “and this time… it’s personal.”

“Don’t forget to take a book!” she called back.

I rode down to the courthouse on Nigel. It was a cold morning, colder than the pans hanging from the Scales of Justice. And windy, windier than the… Winds of… it was really windy. Pretty morning though, if I hadn’t been committed to holding some poor sap’s fate in my hands I totally would’ve taken the long way through Rock Creek Park.

I arrived at the courthouse early, passed through the metal detector and wanding without incident, and headed for the Juror’s Office. Once there, an extremely polite young man took my summons and returned with my Juror’s Badge. I don’t think that the badge officially deputized me, but I sure felt like one of the fingers at the end of the long arm of the law! And I was itchin’ to point that finger at the first evil-doer I saw.

But first, they directed me to the Juror’s Lounge where I was to wait until they called my name and number. The Juror’s Lounge was cavernous, and had several large flat-screen televisions. National Treasure was playing when I came in, and, I must admit, I was annoyed at the distraction from my meditation on Justice. But I studied the film, the looks of virtue on the Good Guys’ faces, the phrenology of Bad Guys, dramatic recreations of scenes in which the Good Guys seemed to be doing something illegal (stealing the Declaration of Independence), but which they clearly should be forgiven for (they needed the map, they were going to give it back, and if they hadn’t taken it first then the Bad Guys would have gotten it and probably used it for toilet paper!). Also, the presence of a virtuous hot chick with moxie totally cancels out whatever’s wrong about breaking into places and stealing documents… if you can convince her that your quest is righteous (after you’ve kidnapped her). Also, Bad Guys will not hesitate to fire pistols with silencers in crowds.

It was a lot to take in, but after an hour or so, I was pumped up and ready to serve up a hot platter of fiery, delicious Justice to one of my Bad Guy fellow citizens, and I was pretty sure I could tell whether they were Good or Bad by what they looked like, or their accent if it came down to it. As luck would have it, they called 72 names, each with a badge number, and mine was among them.

They pulled us out into the hall, and the enthusiastic young man who’d deputized me in the Juror’s Office came out and told us to meet outside of a courtroom on the second floor. Upon our arrival, another gentleman came out of the courtroom and started calling our names and numbers again, this time to put us in lines of six, and to lead each line, four lines at a time, into the courtroom to be seated. We were told the barest facts of the case by the Judge (who didn’t seem the least bit wrathful now that I think about it), and then he asked some very general questions to the whole room. Once we’d all weighed in on the general questions, he told us he’d be bringing each of us up to answer a few questions from him and then from the attorneys. I was in the last group, so we were told to go to lunch and to return in two hours to answer questions.

Two hours! How was I to keep my burning desire to administer justice to the fullest extent of the law at full boil for two hours? But then, thinking more about it, I realized that they knew what they were doing. We’d come out of the Juror’s Lounge as bright, glowing irons, but could not be strong, sharp, balanced instruments of Justice until we’d been pounded on the Anvil of Boredom, and finally dunked repeatedly in the cold waters of a very long lunch.

So I went to a little local burger joint called Hooter’s, had a burger and a root beer, and read my book. I returned to the courthouse feeling a little off from the burger. Hooter’s food was not very good, I imagine they must’ve had an off day, otherwise I don’t see how they could have been as crowded as they were. I was concerned about that, since I figured I was going to have to ascertain the guilt or innocence of an evil-doer with gut instinct, and my guts weren’t going to be able to bring their A-game, but one of the other Fists of Justice sitting next to me assured me that there’d be evidence. They think of everything.

At last the judge started bringing potential jurors from our section up to the bench to ask them questions. I’m sure they were asking things like, “What if you have to pass judgment really, really hard, think you can do that? Think you have the guts to give this guy what’s comin’ to him?” And I was ready to answer “fuckin’ A!” But then, halfway through the row in front of me, the judge announced that they thought they’d gotten a big enough pool, and the rest of us could return to the Juror’s Lounge.

Upon returning, I saw that they’d been screening Flight Plan, in which Jodie Foster demonstrates that Good Guys are sometimes Bad Guys, Sean Bean is not always bad, and that you should never sleep on an airplane. Evidently, this was considered too advanced for beginning jurors, so it was stuck on the menu screen before they finally turned it off and left us with a bouncing “DVD” icon. After another half an hour they started calling a panel, and I prepared, again, to deliver swift, terrible justice. About halfway through the roster, another woman announced over the PA system that the judge did not need a panel after all. Apparently the defendant could just feel the swiftness and terribility of the coming justice, and decided to beg for mercy like a wussy. Either that, or the judge had gotten a Mushroom and Swiss Burger at Hooter’s and was busy sustaining his digestive system’s objections.

Either way, that was my last chance. They thanked us all for our vigilance and dedication to punishment, and sent us home. I was still pretty pumped, it was hard not to let the U-Lock of Justice soar through the windows of a few evil-doing motorists on the way home, but I held my wrath in check.

Friday, I woke up sick. Saturday, I woke up sicker. Sunday, I woke up sick but not as sick as Saturday. Administering sweet, sweet retribution on behalf of the state is stressful to the immune system, such is the price of fulfilling one’s civil duty.

But I’m feeling much better now. How was your week?

The president issued an order yesterday to stop the military tribunals at Guantanimo. This stood out for me.

Following Monday’s hearings, the Office of the Military Commissions held a press conference with several 9/11 family members, who had reportedly been selected by lottery to travel to the base to attend the hearings. Visibly angry, and holding up large photographs of their relatives who died on 9/11, they appealed to President Obama to keep Guantánamo open.

“Today we were in the presence of true evil,” said Donald Arias, who lost his brother Adam in the attack on the World Trade Center. “Mr. Obama needs to reexamine his decision and keep these tribunals going.”

Joe Holland, who lost his son in the World Trade Center, trembled with rage as he took the podium.

“My name is Joe Holland and I lost my son in 9/11,” he said. “When I said I was coming down here, people asked me what they could do. I said, ‘Write a letter to Obama saying that this place should stay open.’”

When journalists asked Holland about the possibility of trying the 9/11 suspects in federal court, he replied, “No, right here, at Guantánamo,” then excused himself from the podium as he fought back tears.

Report after report concludes that most of the people we held at Guantanamo were never affiliated with Al Qaida, weren’t picked up on any battlefield, and were being held for little or no reason, which means we were destroying lives and families across the globe in response to 9/11. I mean, put aside from the odd Taliban foot soldier who was conscripted, never understood what was happening to him, but finds himself imprisoned a world away from his family with no hope of escaping the Kafkaesque nightmare we’ve created. Perhaps you can’t stir up sympathy for anyone that picked up a gun for the Taliban. Fine. What about the fucking Uyghurs, that everyone, everyone, understood weren’t even peripherally involved? What about the fact that 18 Uyghurs were held in isolation for years and years in Cuba? Why isn’t Donald Arias concerned about that, and how can he be certain that he’s in the presence of “true evil” knowing any of that?

Some of the detainees were undoubtedly involved in planning or executing attacks against the U.S., but since we stepped over every bright line of human rights during their interrogations, bringing them to a fair, legitimate trial will be impossible. Maintaining the moral integrity and legitimacy of our judicial process is a prerequisite to bringing the perpetrators of 9/11, as well as terrorists we may apprehend in the future, to justice. But Joe Holland apparently doesn’t think this is important, or at least, doesn’t think it’s important in cases involving people even remotely suspected of involvement in the attack that killed his son.

And that, folks, is why victims of violent crime should never, ever be able to weigh in on how justice is best served. You can’t blame these people for being in pain, or for the depth and breadth of their grief. If I lost any member of my family to violence, I imagine I would be similarly consumed by heartbreak, rage, and vengeance. I am, after all, human.

By the same token, you can’t expect these folks to think rationally about what’s fair and just. I’m not saying that these families, or victims of violence generally, can’t overcome fear and anger to see clearly, but it shouldn’t be surprising if they can’t, and we certainly shouldn’t be asking their advice on how to proceed. It’s a circus sideshow, and the military folks that brought them down to Cuba to stir them up in front of the press ought to be deeply ashamed of themselves.

The makings of another shit sandwich, left by George W. Bush, for all of us to figure out how to eat. Thanks for that, George, and bon apetit America.

So that’s what it’s like to be part of a money bomb. Neat. I wasn’t a Paul supporter so I didn’t get to join in the fun before.

So there’s a money bomb type thing happening today at the AccountabilityNow PAC, which is dedicated to challenging elected officials who don’t think that defending the Constitution is important. Specifically, it’s a collaborative effort between some of the Ron Paul folks and a some liberal die-hard civil rights blogger activists to stand up to the shitbags that pushed the FISA compromise, letting the telecoms get away with violating America’s civil rights, and giving the Bush administration a big thumbs up for violating the 4th Amendment. Bipartisan and opposed to the surveillance state? I’m good with that, so I threw ‘em a few bucks. Feel free to chip in if this kinda thing’s important to you.

But maybe it’s not, and you’re becoming more and more anxious as election season progresses, fearing that you’ll end up in a discussion with someone passionate about some candidate, party, or issue that you just couldn’t give less of a rat’s ass about. The good folks at Today Now! addressed this very topic a few mornings ago, I figure it’s only neighborly of me to post the segment.

Dear Congress and Senate: Fuck You.

I know that this kind of thing drives John Cole crazy, so please don’t misconstrue this as an attack on Obama solely. And it’s not like I’m going to give my vote to McCain behind this, or even stay home. I’ll certainly give money to Obama’s campaign, I may even volunteer.

But not today. Not for Obama, not for the Democratic Senators that voted against amendments to strip telecom immunity from the bill, not for Democrats that supported this subversion of our Constitutional rights and gave another victory to an outlaw administration. Certainly not one fucking dime or phone call for any organization that might channel resources to Steny “Fucking” Hoyer. No, today I’m going to do a little grieving over a couple beers, maybe pour some out for another measure of lost liberty (which I think we can all agree is no longer a “phantom”, Mr. Ashcroft).

Tomorrow, I’m going to give some money to these guys. From here on out, my political focus is on fighting these bastards who care so little for the civil liberties which I hold dear. You wanna talk about guns or welfare or immigration or energy or abortion? They’re important issues to discuss, but all of those discussions are built on the bedrock of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. The War on Drugs is in dire need of reform, but what’s the point in even debating drug policy, or any issue of criminal law, if it’s not grounded on the principle that Habeas Corpus is an absolute requirement of a meaningful system of justice?

We start by restoring the Constitution and the rule of law, and then commit to squaring off with anyone, in either party, that finds it an inconvenient way to govern a nation. For me, everything else comes after.

[Update]: From commenter socalmonk at DKos:

By the time the election rolls around…
the only people left supporting Bush will be the democrats in the House and Senate.

It’s George Carlin Week for hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people, and I’m one of them. As I strolled the halls of YouTube gathering bits and pieces of old performances to savor and be grateful for, I ran across this one. Let’s enjoy a little bit of the master, and then talk about it after, shall we?

That is some nutrient-dense food for thought there, isn’t it? So why’s this commanding any more of my attention than any other particular 4 minutes of Professor Carlin’s insights?

It’s partly because I’m having a difficult time reconciling my optimism and excitement over the potential tectonic shift that an Obama presidency could affect in American politics with my bitter disappointment that only Senators Feingold and Dodd seem to give enough of a shit about the Constitution to stand on the floor of the Senate and fight like hell to stop this ass barnacle of a FISA bill. It’s depressing and disconcerting to watch so many Democrats cave on this issue. I mean, shit, there’s not even a significant political upside to giving the telecoms and the Bush administration a pass. The American people had their Constitutional rights systematically violated by Bush and the telcos, by some accounts as many as 7 months before 9/11, which sure seems like something that sits pretty squarely on the bad side of a bright line.

I also know that this would be a non-starter if our Senators knew for a fact that the American people wouldn’t stand for it. But the only real resistance is coming from a small (yet very vocal and surprisingly effective) minority of citizens who pay close enough attention to know what this fight’s about. If we thought of ourselves as citizens responsible for our government instead of consumers entitled to crazy low prices, or an audience craving entertainment, this wouldn’t be happening. But it is.

To put it another way, James Inhofe didn’t get to the Senate by accident. He is Oklahoma. To put it yet another way, we got an administration run by 4 year olds because we wanted it, and we got it good and hard.

The other chord this bit strikes in me relates to a conversation I had with someone about the late Tim Russert. I was chatting with a woman at a toddler birthday party last weekend, a D.C. local whose family has been involved in liberal Democratic politics for years and years. In the course of our discussion, she brought up that she was pretty broken up about Tim Russert, and what a great journalist she thought he was. I replied that, with respect, I wasn’t a fan of his “gotcha” style interview, and that I didn’t think much of him as a journalist after his testimony at the Libby trial, in which he admitted that discussions with government officials were off the record unless they said they wanted to be on the record. I also brought up the Mary Matalin note from Scooter Libby’s trial where she claimed that the best way for Cheney to get his message out and control it was to go on Meet The Press.

She gave a standard sort of apology for this kind of journalism, saying that they all do that, otherwise they lose their access to those officials. I countered that real journalists, like Sy Hersh for example, don’t need or want that kind of access, that real journalism is the result of doing real investigation. Tim Russert, I concluded, was a member of the court, and was primarily a performer.

This woman then gave me a knowing kind of smile, and remarked to me how great she thought it was that I’m so idealistic about journalism. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she’d pinched my fucking cheeks. And this was coming from a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat.

So there it is, garbage in, garbage out. If 95% of the American public doesn’t know anything about the fight over the FISA bill, then their Reps and Senators will pay no penalty for not caring about it either. Garbage in, garbage out. If the ones who do know something about it just don’t think that telcos sharing private information about our communications with an illegal government spying program is that big of a deal, then why would our elected officials oppose it? Garbage in, garbage out.

And though I miss the full hour, commercial free McNeil/Lehrer Report on PBS, I can’t blame any organization for its demise. They simply got out-competed by a trend toward celebrity journalism that’s seeped into every aspect of our media. There was no cabal that killed real broadcast journalism, we did that. One of the aspects of the whole open-society, free-market of ideas thing is that it’s up to us whether we want real analysis and policy discussions, or a dazzling theatrical performance with romance, fireworks, and buffoonery. We’ve chosen to be entertained, and both the performers and the audience are us.

So the next time you see one of those factoids about how we’re falling behind the the rest of the developed world in education, civil rights, and quality of life, remember this. Our government is made of us. Our media is made of us. And we suck.

Note: I’ve made several little edits for grammar and clarity. I suck too.

Ladies and Gentleman, give it up for California!

Accordingly, insofar as the provisions of sections 300 and 308.5 draw a distinction between opposite-sex couples and same-sex couples and exclude the latter from access to the designation of marriage, we conclude these statutes are unconstitutional.

Here’s a great big Fuckin’-A! for equal marriage rights, and for Californians. My wife and I were married in Santa Cruz, so I feel like my marriage has become that much more legitimate.

And finally, to folks disappointed by this decision, and feel that it threatens the institution of marriage… I understand why you might feel this way, but I can’t sympathize. Your efforts to deny people in loving, committed relationships from realizing the legal and societal benefits of tying the knot have failed, and I couldn’t be happier.

And really, if your marriage could be threatened by this, it means your partner is already gay. There’s nothing you can do about that, but you’re welcome to stay married to them if you want to.

Or, The Country Formerly Known As The United States. Apologies to the rest of the world, I’m hoping our paranoid, neurotic bender is coming to an end, but you may want hold off on visiting for another year or so while we sort this out.

This should be a lesson to any American tempted to let our government cross the bright lines laid out by the Constitution, a document created by political philosophers who mistrusted concentration of power, and despised tyranny. Never trust anyone who says, “Trust me, this is for your own good.”

Update: Good Lord. I’m sure there’s a gray area between State Sanctioned Assholery and Human Rights Violation. I am certain that drugging people without their consent and a valid medical reason isn’t anywhere close to that area.

Add this to the list of shit I can’t believe we, as a nation and a people, do (and that I, as a person, am being billed for). Right up at the top of the list of things that are important to me in this election, next to bringing our troops home and pushing hard for energy independence, is how we’re going to turn America back into America again. It seems to me that before we get all excited about the big plans for a Progressive Remodel, we’re going to have to deal with all the broken, rotten shit the previous occupants have left us to clean up.